Don't Tell Betty
by WhimsicalWriter4
Summary: What happens after Jughead puts on that jacket? Does he become a Serpent? How will the rest of the town see him, and how will he reconcile this with his close friends? Who will he trust? A short story exploring the possibility of a rival gang, and how Jughead deals with it (mostly in relation to the Andrews and Betty). Rated M to be extra careful about violence/injury.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all! I usually spend my writing time in the world of the 100, so please bear with me as I try to figure out the voices of Riverdale characters.

The characters in this chapter are arbitrary (except one), meant to get the story going, so you won't recognize them (except one).

Comments appreciated-enjoy!

* * *

Mason elbowed the youth standing next to him. "There's one," he muttered, nodding with his head to a scrawny teen leaving Pop's.

"One what?" Aiden growled, annoyed. He held up his lighter again, angling himself so Mason couldn't bump him again.

"A Serpent. See the jacket?"

"Him?" Lucas snorted, looking up from the design he'd been etching on his motorcycle with his knife. "Where's his mommy?"

Aiden chuckled. "Right?" he drawled, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Easy target," Mason pointed out. "Look, you know what the boss said. Beat up any Serpents we see. They don't belong on this side of town. It belongs to the Crows."

"Sheriff Kellar—" Aiden began.

"Is their second biggest enemy at the moment. Even if the kid's stupid enough to run to Kellar, he won't care. Probably arrest him for beating himself up and crying wolf," Mason said.

"You got a point," Lucas acknowledged. "It's been a slow night anyway."

Aiden straightened, tossing his cigarette on the ground and scuffing it out with his boot. "I'm up for a little fun."

"No killing," Mason reminded them. "Close, but not dead."

"Whatever," Lucas grumbled. "Close can mean a lot of things."

"Exactly."

When Mason called, "Hey Serpent!" the kid didn't even turn, just kept walking. "Hey kid!" he tried again.

The kid turned, his face pale in the dull glow of the street lights. "Do I know you?" It was more of an annoyed snarl than an actual question.

"Girlfriend?" Aiden hissed under his breath.

"Maybe," Lucas replied skeptically. He stepped forward, brandishing his knife so the kid could see it but no one in the diner would. "I think you should come with us."

The kid's eyes flickered to the knife, then back up to Lucas' face. "Yeah, I don't think that would be good for me."

"If you don't come with us we can settle for your girlfriend," Lucas offered aimiably.

The kid grew paler, his muscles tense. His annoyed nonchalant tone remained the same. "That would be quite the challenge for you, seeing as I don't have one. Best of luck to you." He turned to go, hand clenched in a fist.

Lucas was beside him in a second, knife pressed against the kid's ribs as he slung an arm around his leather-clad shoulders.

Mason and Aiden moved closer, well aware that Lucas was muttering obscene threats against the kid's girlfriend even as he leaned in as though having a friendly chat.

The kid froze, then numbly let himself be pushed away from the lighted sidewalk.

From there, it was way too easy. He was too scrawny to fight three men, though he did give it a valiant effort. Eventually, he was on his knees spitting out blood, his subdued grunts having turned to sharp gasps long ago. A few solid kicks to his exposed absomen left the kid flat on his back, moaning semi-consciously.

Riker pulled up on his bike. "What the hell?" he demanded.

"Want some, Riker?" Mason offered. "The fight's nearly gone, but he's got enough in him to still be fun."

"You're idiots," Riker informed them. "Do you want the entire Serpent gang on us?"

"The boss said—"

"That's the kid with the hat, you idiot," Riker cut him off. "He's like their pet or something. Never does anything, but they'll all come after you for this if they find out."

Mason paled. "He's _that_ kid?"

"Do you know of any other Serpent who wears a stupid hat like that?"

Just as quickly as they had materialized from the darkness, the Crows vanished.

The kid lay on the ground for some time, a small moan escaping him in the rare event that he moved. Eventually, he pulled a phone from his pocket. "Archie?" he croaked. "I need a ride."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey all, sorry for the long wait! Hopefully the length of this chapter helps make up for it. Enjoy!

Reviews always appreciated :)

* * *

"Wait, what?" Archie asked, hitting the timer on the oven. "Say it again now that I can hear you. Pizza's done, by the way."

He listened for a minute, then dropped the oven mitt on the floor. "Where are you?" he demanded. "Ok, I'll tell my dad. We'll come get you. You should call—ok, ok, fine, I won't. But you better have a good reason by the time we get there, or I'm calling Kevin's dad."

Archie put the phone down just as his dad entered the kitchen.

"I came for pizza, but what's this about Sheriff Kellar?"

"We need to go get Jughead. Now."

* * *

Archie and Fred Andrews found Jughead in a poorly lighted area not too far from Pop's. He lay in a sort of heap on the ground, not having tried (or managed?) to sit up in the time it had taken the Andrews to arrive.

"Jughead? Hey, can you hear me?" Archie asked, giving his friend's shoulder a shake.

"I'm not dead, Archie," Jughead groaned. "I can hear you."

"What happened, sport?" Mr. Andrews asked.

"Look, I'd rather not be the cause for a gang war," Jughead answered, accepting Archie's help to stand. He stifled a groan and nearly fell over again. "So we'd better get out of here."

Mr. Andrews nodded, opening the truck door. "You're explaining at some point," he said.

"Sure," Jughead ground out, jerking away when Archie put his arm around him to steady his swaying.

Archie barely managed to keep his friend from falling. "Jug?"

"'m fine."

"You don't sound fine," Archie objected.

"No one asked you."

Mr. Andrews sighed. He loved those two, he really did. But their methods of handling stressful situations were very different and did not go well together. "Just get in the truck."

Jughead fell in more than climbing in, but he made it far enough for Archie to shut the door behind him.

"Jughead?" Mr. Andrews prompted when they were a few blocks away from Pop's.

"Not yet," Jughead requested. "Please, just not yet."

Mr. Andrews gave a small nod and drove on silently.

"Is your foster family going to be concerned if you're not home yet?" Archie asked.

"I can't go there looking like this."

Clothes and skin torn, blood here and there, too weak to stand on his own.

"No, I mean should I call them—"

"They think we're having dinner," Jughead cut him off. "We were, weren't we?"

"Tell them you're spending the night," Mr. Andrews directed.

Jughead handed his phone to Archie.

"If I call from your phone, won't they think that's a little strange?"

Jughead sighed and rolled his eyes. "Text them."

"Why can't you?" Archie asked, taking the phone.

"Can't," Jughead said simply. His hands were shaking too badly.

"Jughead, I am taking you home, and you will have a lot of explaining to do," Mr. Andrews informed him.

Jughead just closed his eyes wearily and lay flat on the seat. "I know," he said finally. "And I will. Just, not yet."

* * *

By the time they made it to the Andrews' house, and the two Andrews men managed to get Jughead to the couch, the Jones boy was back to looking half dead.

Mr. Andrews headed for the kitchen, saying something about a wet cloth.

Archie reached for his phone.

"Don't," Jughead requested, eyes still closed.

"Don't what?" Archie froze, fingers hovering above the touch screen.

Jughead opened one eye. "Don't tell Betty."

Archie glanced down at the blank text message—to Betty. "Why not? She'd want to know."

"I don't want her to."

"She's going to find out, Jug. You don't…look, um, normal."

Jughead snorted and focused his gaze on the ceiling. "I'll tell her when I'm ready."

"You haven't even really told us," Archie objected.

"I will."

"Betty might be able to help," Archie persisted.

"I don't want her to see me like this," he confessed.

But Archie didn't understand that. He'd grown up living next to Betty. She'd been there when he'd escaped the bathtub and run for the backyard at five years old. She'd sat at Spot's grave with him, even crying with him for a dog she'd never liked. Their bedroom windows faced each other, and Archie wasn't about to pretend there wasn't the rare moment when he forgot to close the curtains. Not that she'd ever mention it (she hadn't). He didn't understand hiding something from Betty. "She won't care, Jug. She'll love you anyway."

Jughead's eyes flickered to Archie at the word "love."

"Oh don't even," Archie groaned. "If you don't know she loves you I don't know how you can be a writer."

"I know," Jughead said simply.

"Then you know she won't care if she sees you like this."

"I care," Jughead said almost viciously. "She's been there every time I needed her. Late sometimes, but always there. But this would hurt her, and right now there's not much left I can protect her from. If I can protect her from this, I will."

Archie fell silent. That was something he understood, something he could respect.

"Arch?"

"Ok, Jug. I get it. I won't tell her."

"Thank you."

"But you need to at some point, and sooner would be better than later if you want to avoid her wrath. She may look sweet in her blonde pony and pastel cardigans, but there's a fire in her."

"I know," Jughead said. "I'll tell her." Boy, did he know that fire. He could picture her beautiful hands, marred by those fingernails as she fought so hard against herself. Sometimes, when he could see her caving, he would wrap his hands around hers, desperate to protect her against herself.

"Well," Mr. Andrews said, announcing his reentry to the room. "Are you about ready to tell us what happened and why my son was convinced he shouldn't call the cops?"

"I think I could manage that, Mr. Andrews."

Mr. Andrews moved the boy's feet so he could sit on the same couch. He settled Jughead's feet in his lap and began to untie and remove his boots. "Go ahead, tell us your story."

"I steopped at Pop's on my way here," Jughead began.

"Dude, we were going to have pizza," Archie interrupted.

Jughead raised an eyebrow. "Your point being? I was still hungry after my milkshake and burger."

"Was," Archie echoed, confused.

"Well when three guys beat the crap out of you it messes with your appetite, apparently."

Mr. Andrews dropped the boots on the floor and grasped Jughead's wrist, unceremoniously wiping blood from his hand.

"I left and three Crows came up to me," Jughead continued.

"Crows?"

"Arch, they hate the Serpents. If you keep interrupting I might forget how the story goes."

"But you're not a Serpent," Archie objected. "Not really. Aren't they just looking out for you until your dad gets out?"

"Well yes, but the Crows didn't seem very interested in that explanation," Jughead said sarcastically. He hissed with pain when Mr. Andrews turned his hand over.

Mr. Andrews gave him a questioning look but held the wrist firm.

"I think it's sprained," Jughead explained. "The Crows were more interested in telling me all the things they would do to Betty if I didn't go with them," he spat.

"To _Betty?_ " Archie gasped.

"Relax, they don't actually know who she is or they would have used her name."

"It upset you anyway," Mr. Andrews observed. "You were caught off guard, and a couple of Crows jumped at their chance to beat up a Serpent."

"Pretty much." Jughead glanced at Archie. "Your dad's a lot smarter than you," he remarked.

"That's why he's the dad," Archie said easily. Then, when his friend's face fell, "I'm sorry, Jug. I didn't mean—"

"It's ok. You're rght. That's how it's supposed to work. Some of us just aren't that lucky." Jughead squirmed when Mr. Andrews touched a gash on his arm.

"Jug, what exactly did they do to you?" Archie asked.

"Exactly?" Jughead echoed, shifting again. It was as though no position were comfortable, and he was trying to get away from the pain.

"Well not _exactly_ ," Archie amended, not sure he really wanted to know.

"They worked me over and I barely managed to lay a hand on them," Jughead spat, voice shaking. "Is that what you want to hear? That I was too weak to fight back? I'm not _you_ , Archie. I get beat up. I'm an easy target and that's just part of my life." He gave a bitter laugh, then grimaced. "Maybe if I'd worked on your dad's crew last summer like you did I wouldn't be here. Maybe I could have saved you from your mistake with Ms. Grundy or whoever she actually is. Maybe—"

"How often do you get beat up?" Archie cut him off.

Mr. Andrews stopped tending to Jughead's injuries and shot his son a warning look.

Jughead glared at his hands, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"How often, Jug?" Archie persisted. "How many fights?"

"None," Jughead nearly mumbled, the argumentative tone gone from his voice. "Been knocked around a few times, shoved in a locker…I don't get in fights, Arch. You know that."

Archie's phone rang, and he silenced it. "Then why? Why pretend you're used to this? That isn't not a big deal?"

"It's what I do." His voice cracked. "I pretend things are normal and fine so I can keep going. Right now, it hurts too much for me to not pretend." Tears, unwanted, filled his eyes, but Jughead kept right on pretending. "If I pretend, people around me leave me alone. It makes it easier to keep going." His voice hitched. "That's why," a gulp, "that's why I don't want Betty here. She doesn't let me pretend."

By the time he'd finished, Jughead was shaking again. He gave a little sniff, then lurched forward with a groan and a look on his face that suggested he might lose his meal from Pop's right there in the Andrews' living room.

Mr. Andrews put a comforting hand on Jughead's shoulder but the kid jerked away with a hiss of pain.

"Jug?" Archie asked.

Jughead pressed back into the couch as though he could melt into it, a hand covering his eyes. "Please," he whimpered. "Please just let me pretend."

"Dad, I think—"

"Archie, why don't you go find an ice pack and some water for Jughead?" Mr. Andrews suggested.

Archie nodded and headed for the kitchen. There wasn't anything he could do anyway.

From the kitchen, Archie could hear his father telling Jughead to take off his hsirt. Jughead pleaded with him, but Mr. Andrews wasn't taking "No" (or any other form of it) for an answer. Archie swung the freezer door open.

"Jughead, I think you have a serious injury," Mr. Andrews said calmly. "I need you to remove your shirt."

"Please, Mr. Andrews," Jughead begged. "I can't. Please don't make me."

"You don't really have an option. It's me or the doctors in the ER."

Archie's digging for the ice pack drowned out Jughead's response, but not his yelp. Archie stood fast and spun, only to see his father helping Jughead remove his shirt. Jughead practically collapsed on the couch when the shirt was off.

Archie looked away. Whatever injury his father suspected, it was painful and his dad was trying to give Jughead some privacy. He reached for a cup, only to be cut off by a knock at the door.

"I'll get the door," Archie called to the other room.

Before he had the chance to grab the knob, the door swung open. Betty Cooper stood on the front step.


	3. Chapter 3

A little shorter than last update, but it's up sooner, so I think we're even. I hope you all are enjoying it! Reviews appreciated!

* * *

"Archie, I think something's wrong." Everything about her said she was upset, possibly even stricken. "Jughead isn't answering my calls and no one seems to know where he is. I finally called his foster family, and they said he was with you, but you're not answering either."

Archie remembered the call he'd rejected.

"I saw your dad's truck. Do you think he'd let us take it to go out looking for Jughead? I just know something happened and I can't stand imagining him somewhere alone and—"

"Betty, stop," Archie cut her off, stepping onto the proch and shutting the door behind himself. "He's here."

Betty gave a start, then moved for the door. "Archie," she said, "move your arm. I want to see my boyfriend."

"No, Betty, wait. He's…not ready to see you yet."

"Of course he is! We're not in a fight. Let _go_ , Archie!"

Archie kept hold on her arms. "No. Betty, _no_. Can I please explain?"

Betty stopped struggling, crossed her arms, and stared him down.

Archie shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Jughead was on his way here when he was jumped by a rival gang, the Crows."

Betty lunged for the door.

"Betty, you _need_ to let me finish," Archie said. "The door is locked, and I'm not giving you the key until you listen."

"I know where you hide your extra key, Archie."

Archie sighed and ran a hand across his face. "Jug's with my dad," he told her. "Trust me when I say if you go in that house you have to listen to me first."

"Make it fast."

"Ok. He's beat, but he's gonna be ok. He asked me not to call you because he didn't want you to see him like this."

"Like what? How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure," Archie confessed. "I'm still trying to find that out. Or my dad is. I was getting ice. Look, he's in a tough spot right now. He's hurt and embarrassed and I think he just wanted a little space before—"

They both lunged for the door when they heard Jughead's agonized cry.

"Open it," Betty ordered. "Open the door, Archie!"

"I _am_!" He fumbled with the keys.

"Betty grabbed the keys, hands surprisingly steady, and unlocked the door. Before Archie could stop her, she went straight for the living room.

By the time Archie caught up, Betty was kneeling on the floor next to the couch, brushing Jughead's hair back and soothingly touching his face.

Jughead was sobbing, or at least he would have been if he hadn't been in so much pain. As it was, he seemed to be struggling to stop the body-wracking gasps, clearly pained by every movement.

"She was at the door," Archie explained to his father.

"His ribs are broken," Mr. Andrews returned.

Archie slowly turned his gaze back to Jughead. His friend's chest was already starting to turn colors.

"Jughead," Betty was saying. "Juggie, hey, listen. No, no, look at me. It's ok. You're ok now. Can you breathe?"

Jughead shook his head, tears still running down his cheeks.

"Ok, I need you to slow down," Betty coached. "Focus on me, alright? Just focus on me. I know you can't take deep breaths, but you can take slower ones. Good, breathe. Slower. It's ok. You're going to be ok. You're safe, and we'll take care of you. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to protect us or do anything other than lay on this couch and rest."

"Betty," Jughead croaked form between gasps.

"Shh, we're all here now. You'll be fine, we won't tell anyone. Right now you just need to breathe."

"They said," Jughead chocked out, chin trembling with the effort to control his sobs and speak at the same time. "They said they would h-hurt you. Bad things, they were bad things. And I don't, they don't know who you are, but I was scared and—" he flinched as his body shuddered with a hiccup.

"I'm right here, Juggie," Betty soothed. "You can stop fighting now."

Slowly, Jughead's sobs subsided, and he rested his head in her hands and closed his eyes, taking shallow breaths.

"We should have called her sooner," Mr. Andrews remarked.

"I tried," Archie revealed. "He didn't want her here."

"No," Mr. Andrews agreed, "but he needs her here. Ice?"

"On the counter." Archie ducked out, returning a moment later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"Betty." Mr. Andrews held the ice out to her, and she took it.

"Jughead, I'm going to put the ice on your broken ribs," Betty told him. "It'll hurt, but eventually you'll feel better."

Jughead nodded and shut his eyes tightly. He gave a sharp hiss of pain when he felt the ice on his skin, but that was all. With a shuddering breath, he turned so his cheek rested on her hand again.

Mr. Andrews gestured to the other room, and Archie followed.

"How's he look, Dad?"

"He took quite the beating, but he'll survive."

"Without medical treatment?" Archie worried.

"He's in the system now," Mr. Andrews reminded him. "He has access to treatment if he wants it."

"I doubt he wants it."

Mr. Andrews nodded. "He likes to stand on his own two feet. I can respect that."

"Do you think he should see a doctor?"

"Probably. If his ribs really are broken there isn't much they can do for him. Still, it would be good to make sure he doesn't have any internal injuries. Is his foster family going to be upset when he doesn't come home for a few days?"

Archie shook his head. "They're pretty understanding. As long as he tells them he's with us it should be fine."

"At least school's out for the year, and he doesn't have anywhere to be tomorrow." Mr. Andrews took a beer from the fridge and popped the top off. "Take tomorrow off and stay here with Jughead. He probably shouldn't be alone, and I doubt Betty's mom will be ok with her staying all day."

"Yeah, sure, of course."

Mr. Andrews turned. "Let's head back in there. I want to make sure he's comfortable before hitting the hay."

Archie held up a hand. "Uh, Dad? Maybe don't bring the beer in there. Jug never says anything, but maybe tonight isn't a good time to test that."

Mr. Andrews nodded and set it on the counter.

When the Andrews men reentered their living room, they found Jughead resting on the couch. Every now and then he would squirm or whimper something, but for the most part he seemed to be sleeping.

Betty smiled softly at them and stood, crossing the room quietly. "He'll probably sleep for a few hours," she said softly. "Is he staying here for the night?"

Archie nodded. "We already cleared it with his foster family. I'm taking tomorrow off work."

Betty frowned. "My mother would be very upset if I stayed the night," he reasoned. "I'll come back in the morning."

"Betty, you don't need to—"

"We both know that's not true," Betty cut him off. "You guys already tried to keep this from me, and it didn't work. Now you need to let me help."

Mr. Andrews chuckled. "She has a point," he said, gently tossing a blanket over Jughead's sleeping form. "I have to work tomorrow, so I'm headed for bed. Let me know if anything changes."

"Archie."

He turned his attention back to Betty's determined face. Archie intended to argue with her, try to explain that Jughead really just wanted some time alone to recover, but he knew the look on Betty's face far too well. There would be no changing her mind.

Archie's shoulders sagged with his sigh. "Ok. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She gave him a curt (possibly triumphant) nod as she moved around him and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Archie."

"Goodnight, Betty."

He locked the door after him. When Archie returned to the living room, he paused. Jughead looked so tired. Granted, he was sleeping, but there was an exhaustion there that hadn't been present when they were kids. Lately, it had gotten much worse. Sometimes, Archie worried that Jughead would just run out of steam some day and collapse.

With a sigh, Archie headed for the basement to dig out the air mattress. He wasn't about to leave Jughead in the living room alone, not after everything he'd been through tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey all! So sorry I haven't updated sooner. I promise I haven't forgotten about the story, I've just been crazy busy with my job and various other summer responsibilities. Hoping to get more up soon. Thank you for the kind reviews!

* * *

The first time Archie woke Jughead was whimpering softly in his sleep. Archie sat up, confused and not sure why he was lying on the living room floor. When his eyes registered the dim light from the kitchen, he saw Jughead on the couch. Wearily, he got up, tossed a blanket over his friend, and gave him a nudge. "Jug," he hissed before feigning sleep.

Jughead startled, mumbled something, and dosed off again.

The second time Archie woke, Jughead was actually crying out for someone to "please stop, just let me go, please." Archie's "Jughead!" and a gentle shake did the trick.

The third time Archie woke Jughead was sitting up on the touch, head hanging low. Archie realized Jughead had woken him purposely this time. "You ok?" he asked.

Jughead nodded, not looking at his friend.

"Do you need another blanket? Water? Ice?"

Jughead shook his head. "I can't walk," he mumbled.

"You're fine here for the night," Archie assured him. "My dad said you could stay as long as you need to."

"I need to go to the bathroom," Jughead explained, voice shaking. "I tried to stand but everything spins and my legs just collapse." He looked scared, like he wasn't used to his body betraying him like that.

Archie was on his feet in a second. "Come on," he offered, holding out a hand.

Jughead sniffed and brushed his sleeve across his face before taking Archie's hand. "Thanks."

"Hey, don't' worry about it. Ok, careful. Slow down, Jug. Should I turn on a light?"

Their progress was slow. Archie stood in the hall, ready to help Jughead back when he exited.

Jughead fell asleep halfway through his embarrassed "Thanks Arch."

The fourth time Archie woke, Jughead was thrashing and shouting, not pleading. "Don't touch her! Get away! You _look_ at her, and they'll get you." Archie woke him and went back to sleep.

Archie lost count of how many times Jughead woke him that night. He didn't get much sleep, but he suspected Jughead didn't either. He'd decided after the first time not to mention it in the morning. It wasn't important.


	5. Chapter 5

The long wait is terrible and I hate to do it to you guys, but alas, my writing (unfortunately) comes after my job. But! I happily bring you a much longer chapter this time. Enjoy!

* * *

In the morning, Archie didn't wake from his dad leaving or even the sun coming through the windows. He woke to the smell of bacon frying. Bleary-eyed, he sat up and blinked rapidly.

"Good morning, Archie," Betty greeted him from the kitchen.

"Morning," he mumbled as he staggered to his feet. "When did you get here?"

"About a half hour ago," Betty said. "You two looked so tired, I decided not to wake you."

Archie nodded. "It was a rough night," he confessed.

"I gathered that." She added more bacon to the pan.

"What're you doing?"

"Making breakfast?"

Her confused expression made Archie realize the stupidity of his question.

"Archie, why don't you go take a shower while I finish making breakfast? I think we should let Jughead sleep for as long as possible."

Archie just nodded and headed up the stairs, his brain too addled to respond.

When Archie returned, Betty had moved breakfast to the coffee table by the couch. Jughead, sitting up on his makeshift bed, was chatting with Betty and actually looked happy.

Archie sat on the floor by the table, unable to think of anything to say.

"Well good morning to you too," Jughead grumbled good-naturedly. "Sleep well? Me either. Have some bacon, Betty made it. I've never had better bacon. I didn't' even know you had some in the fridge. Did you?"

Archie raised an eyebrow at Betty. "No, I didn't," he said slowly.

Jughead rolled his eyes. "What did I tell you?" he said in an aside to Betty.

"To be fair, you did overdo it a little," Betty returned.

Archie remained silent, wide eyes betraying his confusion.

"Archie, I'm fine," Jughead assured his friend. "Sore, and a bit broken here and there, but I'm fine."

"But last night—"

"Last night I had just gotten the crap beaten out of me," Jughead pointed out. "Of course I looked half-dead."

"So you're ok then?"

"That would be a 'no'," Jughead answered before taking another piece of bacon. He held it in the air like a professor might hold a pencil during a lecture. "I'm alive and fine as long as you don't make me laugh. Then it feels like I might suffocate. My ribs, at least one of them, is probably broken, and I think we all know I have a few other minor injuries. So I'm not ok, but I'm fine. Just, maybe don't make me move yet."

"Juggie, if your ribs are broken don't you think you should go to a doctor?" Betty asked hesitantly.

"Not really. They just tell you to rest and wrap."

"And you know this how?"

Archie raised a hand guiltily. "I fell out of the tree house when I was little and broke a rib. That's exactly what they told me."

Jughead turned to face Betty. "Look, Bets, I appreciate your concern, I really do. And it was really nice to have you here last night when things took a turn for the worse. But you have to believe me when I say I'm fine."

"I believe you," she nearly whispered in that soft innocent voice of hers. "But I'm still worried about you."

Jughead took a bite of bacon. "Fair enough," he conceded. "I fancy I'd feel the same if our roles in this situation were reversed."

"Wow," Archie marveled. Then, "No, sorry, I wasn't even listening. I just realized that Jughead is right. Betty, you _are_ good at making bacon."

Betty laughed uncomfortably. "Um, thank you?"

"You're welcome to come cook breakfast any time," Archie offered. "My dad and I try our best, but it never ends up like this."

"That's your own fault for the two of you being bachelors," Jughead needled. "You cook like bachelors and eat like bachelors."

"Oh, because you can talk? Before me or your foster family you were eating who-knows-what and living on your own," Archie shot back.

Jughead grinned. "Why do you think I spent so much time at Pop's?"

Betty sighed. "When you two are done figuring out who's more uncivilized, let me know. I'd like to get to the bottom of this."

"Bottom of what?" Archie asked.

"Betty, no," Jughead objected, shaking his head. "This is something you need to leave alone."

"Jug, gang members beat you," Betty insisted. "They should pay for what they did."

"And they will when the Serpents find out," he assured her. "Please, Betty, don't make this your new crusade. Let's just focus on finding your brother." Betty opened her mouth to respond, but Jughead interrupted. "We can argue about this later. Right now I'm tired and sore and not up for combat of any kind."

"Not even Scrabble?" Betty coaxed as she gathered their breakfast dishes.

Archie saw the eager look in Jughead's eyes. "Oh no," he groaned. "Guys, please, can't we do something I at least have a chance at?"

"You have a chance," Betty called from the kitchen.

"No, I don't. Not with a news reporter and the school's biggest nerd."

"Coolest," Jughead corrected absentmindedly. "Coolest nerd. Humor the cripple and at least try to play."

Archie sighed but stood. "Alright. Betty, where'd you stash the game?"

"By the front door."

"I assume you put our hidden key back?"

"Yes. Hurry up and set up the game, Arch. I'm almost done with the dishes."

Archie rolled his eyes. "How do I get into messes like this?"

"You have the news reporter and the coolest nerd as friends," Jughead answered easily. "It's your own fault, dude."

Archie set the box on the coffee table and opened it. He stared blankly at the contents. "I don't even know how to set this up anymore."

"You're incredibly uncultured, Archie," Jughead complained. He bit back a groan of pain as he began to set up the game.

"Juggie, no, sit back," Betty worried, swooping in from the kitchen.

"Betty, I'm fine, really."

"Except you're not. Yesterday you couldn't even walk, and you probably have broken ribs. Please just sit back and let us help."

"You know you can't win this one, right?" Archie asked. "Your best move is to let her car for you a bit, especially since you kind of need it."

Jughead sighed and rebelliously rolled his eyes but ultimately sat back and let Betty take over.

About an hour later, Archie said, "That's not even a word" for the fifth time.

"Yes, it is, Archie," Jughead said in the tone he might use for a kindergartener. "You say that about almost every word I put down."

"I was right."

"Once," Jughead conceded. "Only once did I try to pull a fast one on you guys and use something that wasn't a real word." He tossed the dictionary to Archie. "Look it up if you don't believe me. It's a word I'd use for Betty."

"Aww, Jughead," Betty crooned.

He flashed her a rare smile.

Archie frowned. "It doesn't look like a nice word to use for your girlfriend," he grumbled as he thumbed through the dictionary.

"Pulchritudinous," Jughead said. "Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous—all good words for Betty."

Archie gave up and dropped the dictionary on the table. No way Jughead made up some word that strange, had a definition for it, _and_ Betty recognized it. She wouldn't let Jughead get away with that, not with her competitive streak. "Fine, so it's a word." He put down an "s" to make "canine" plural. "Betty, your turn."


End file.
